The Last Code Called

The practice room fell silent in a way that felt almost unnatural.

In that hush, the sound of held breath seemed impossibly loud.

"……"

The judges didn't speak right away. They glanced down at their evaluation sheets, then looked back at me. That brief silence stretched out several times longer than it should have.

"Wow."

The one who broke the stillness was Katin, the dance trainer.

"Have you trained at another agency by any chance?"

I caught my breath and shook my head. "No, Nyx Entertainment is my first."

Katin's eyebrows rose. "Really? Honestly, I still can't keep the Code 20 trainees' faces straight." He glanced at the trainer seated beside him. "But improving this much in such a short time—"

The other trainer nodded ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠along. "No dance background at all, and this after just two days—"

They took the bait.

Exactly the point I'd been aiming for. The biggest advantage of going first was having no one to be compared against. If complete, polished performers like Yiyul or Joohan had gone before me, no one would have been this astonished. And the further down the order you went, the wearier the judges became. My extremely low expectations—which might have been zero to begin with—had collided with my slot in the lineup, producing an impression that outstripped my actual skill.

"Of course, the technique itself is still lacking."

Song Inhyuk adjusted his glasses.

"Yes."

"Your breathing wavered toward the end, and your movements were stiff overall."

"……Yes."

I nodded at the precise critique.

"But."

Song Inhyuk looked at me again. "The room for growth is considerable."

At that instant, several trainees lifted their heads.

This guy really knows how to jerk people around.

"Normally—"

Song Inhyuk tapped the desk lightly with his finger. "Just memorizing all of that in two days would be a feat in itself."

"Exactly!"

Katin chimed in immediately. "Seriously, how on earth did you memorize the entire choreography?"

The question I'd been waiting for.

"I've never learned to dance before." I paused for a breath. "So I gave up on dancing well."

The judges all turned to look at me at once.

"Instead."

I let the corner of my mouth lift slightly. "I resolved never to get a single step wrong."

Katin burst out laughing. "That's a good approach."

"At the very least, that much was something I could control through practice."

The judges exchanged glances.

Scratch, scratch—

The sound of pens moving across evaluation sheets filled the room.

"Did you do all of that by yourself?"

Another question I'd anticipated. I hesitated for the briefest moment before answering. "……There were trainees who helped me."

A writer's eyes lit up instantly. "Who?"

"Code 1 and Code 3."

Yiyul's and Han Sangyoon's gazes snapped toward me at the same time.

"Code 3."

I looked at Kang Yiyul first. "Even with his arm injured, he walked me through every single movement, one by one."

"And Code 1……"

Then I turned to Han Sangyoon. "You taught me how to control my dynamics. Thanks to that, I was able to make it all the way through."

A ripple of short laughter from the judges softened the mood.

"Now I'm curious about those two trainees as well."

"They're rivals in a way, and yet—how heartwarming."

This would be mouthwatering material for the writers and the PD alike. The story of the last-place trainee and the first-place trainee worked on everyone, regardless of genre.

"I look forward to seeing more from you."

"Thank you!"

I bowed and headed back to my seat, eyes trailing after me the whole way. Envy, wariness, and even flat-out, undisguised hostility.

"How much did you practice?"

Han Sangyoon thumped me on the shoulder. "You were a completely different person out there."

Sangyoon, you taught me for one session, and then I practiced for exactly one hundred more hours after that.

"I worked hard."

"That was beyond what 'hard work' usually gets you."

He was smiling, but his eyes were serious. "Still…… it was worth teaching you."

"Thanks for the trouble."

That one remark, oddly enough, gave me strength.

Yiyul, sitting beside him, said nothing at all. He simply watched me in silence.

"If a brand-new trainee is this good, expectations for the others just went way up, don't you think?"

Groans erupted around the room.

What followed was, in a word, a total disaster. Trainees who nailed the choreography missed their lyrics; the ones who sang well fumbled the dance entirely.

"I didn't know you could just dance and not sing a single word of the song?"

"Since you only dance during filming, I suppose you're not planning to sing at all?"

Some skipped the entire second verse outright; others just stood there blankly, unable to do anything at all. The judges, evidently pitying them, kept mouthing just try it and keep going over and over.

"I lost all the choreography details, and couldn't even start the song……"

"I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what? You're the one who won't debut."

Every single word was edged with a blade. Before long, trainees bursting into tears became a common sight.

"Code 13, why are you crying? What good is crying going to do you right now?"

"I-I'm not—"

Finally, unable to watch any longer, Song Inhyuk picked up the microphone.

"Hey. Everyone."

You could feel, from his voice alone, how hard he was suppressing his anger.

"The Code 20 trainee who's only been at this for a week memorized all of it like his life depended on it. So what exactly is your excuse?"

Yeesh…… he's sitting on a bed of nails right now.

"Filming has started."

Song Inhyuk's voice dropped even lower. "Do you really have no sense of crisis just because this is an internal survival program?"

The trainees' faces paled in real time.

"Get it together. The guy who's Code 20 right now—does it not scare you that he might get a better slot than you?"

He never raised his voice, which somehow made it all the more intimidating. Park Jaehoon, the vocal trainer seated beside him, hurriedly jumped in with a smile. "C-Ceo-nim, let's stop there for now. It's their first evaluation, so they were nervous, and we still have filming to get through. Right, PD-nim?"

But the PD just smirked. "Why? This is provocative. I like it."

Park Jaehoon froze.

"There's a lot of good footage to keep in there."

Unbelievable. The man was genuinely addicted to dopamine.

Kang Sejun moved swiftly to reset the atmosphere. "Well, the road to making your debut dream come true is never easy, is it? Now then, we'll continue with the evaluation of Code 10 trainee."

"Yes!"

Choi Woonjo's booming answer rang through the practice room.

"Code 10 trainee, are you nervous?"

"Soy sauce?"

Woonjo's deliberate mishearing set off laughter among the judges and the MC alike.

"Nervous. Ner-vous."

"Oh, narbuss? Nah, zero nervousness here!"

I'd felt it back in the Impacter days too—that was pure talent.

"Then, we'll begin!"

His goofy expression sharpened into something serious in an instant.

"Woonjo, when he's like that, he's a totally different person, isn't he?"

Because his whole image transformed the moment he stopped smiling, fans who'd stanned him through his stages took quite a while to adjust—there were plenty of testimonials saying exactly that.

More surprising than his clean, polished dancing was his singing—far steadier than I'd expected.

But then.

His voice suddenly cut out.

Don't tell me he forgot the lyrics?

"……Yeah, we go up now, break the code—"

While everyone held their breath, Choi Woonjo, without missing a beat, casually swapped the bridge for a rap.

"……!"

Even the judges flinched at the audacity, then broke into laughter.

"Code 10 trainee, what happened when you forgot the lyrics?"

"Hmm, total disaster. That's what happened."

I glanced over to see Han Sangyoon pressing a hand to his forehead. "Where on earth does he even pick up words like that……"

That, too, was a marvel to behold. Even after debut, Han Sangyoon had been the designated keeper of Choi Woonjo's mouth.

"Forgetting the lyrics is a critical mistake, but handling it that smoothly is a skill in itself—so overall, an excellent performance."

"Judge-nim, thank you so much!"

Han Sangyoon buried his face in his hand yet again.

The next slot belonged to Code 4, Go Jaeseong.

"Jaeseong, well."

Katin smiled. "I'm sure he prepared thoroughly."

Once the song started, Go Jaeseong launched into the opening at flawless timing.

It's not like he lacked skill.

Around me, his band of hangers-on clucked their admiration. "Look how precise his movements are." "So jealous—clearly debut-material, even at a glance."

I studied Go Jaeseong's dancing intently. Arms and legs sweeping in flourishes; movements flowing naturally into one another on the beat.

But I smiled faintly.

Perfect, from the outside. But……

I could see what he'd missed. And on top of that, the lyric mistake at the end. He'd breezed past it with a straight face, but my ears weren't so easily fooled.

"Well prepared."

"Thank you!"

At last, it was Code 3, Kang Yiyul's turn.

Truthfully, Go Jaeseong's evaluation had barely registered with me. All my attention was fixed on Yiyul's injured arm. No matter how perfectly he performed, a casted arm was bound to count against him.

"Code 3 trainee, please come forward."

"Yes!"

Kang Yiyul walked to the front.

And then.

"What the—?"

"Is it healed?"

He'd taken off the half-cast.

I shot up out of my seat before I knew what I was doing.

What are you doing?

Kang Yiyul, wordless, rotated his arm. My brow furrowed on the spot—I could see it still hurt.

It's not even fully healed, and he's taking off the cast to dance?

I barely wrestled my reason back and sat down again, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I still couldn't believe it.

The judges and the MC hesitated too, caught off guard by Yiyul's sudden stunt.

"Code 3 trainee, you don't have to push yourself. The cast can go back on—"

"I'm fine."

Fine? What part of that is fine?!

I clutched my head. I was starting to suspect that his claim of never once being hurt after debut might not have been a lie after all.

But Yiyul gave his wrists and ankles a light stretch and went straight into his evaluation.

I couldn't so much as breathe as I watched Yiyul's stage. Every time he extended the injured arm, my own shoulder flinched in sympathy.

His voice wavered for a moment as if in pain, but his expression never cracked.

Just a little.

Just a little more.

I clenched both fists until my fingertips went numb. Every single movement felt like a life-or-death quest.

The moment he stretched his arm out for the final pose—

He did ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it!

No World Cup goal could have drawn a louder cheer than the one I was holding back. My throat burned. One light touch from anyone, and I might have burst into tears on the spot.

Every muscle in my body went slack.

Yiyul's the one who danced it, so why does my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠whole body ache?……

The dance trainer spoke, visibly moved. "I got a little choked up, honestly."

The practice room went quiet.

"A trainee who wants to stand on stage this badly deserves a good spot."

"Your arm—is it really okay?"

Song Inhyuk let out a sigh.

"Yes, it's almost fully healed. And…… I didn't want to leave any regrets behind."

From far across the room, I could see a writer silently pumping her fist, mouthing, That's it!

"Well done."

"Thank you!"

The last two were Han Sangyoon and Joohan, and neither betrayed anyone's expectations.

Joohan especially. That guy was, truly, someone born to be an idol. Han Sangyoon's skills were rock-solid, but Joohan was on another level entirely. The old saying went, so that's the kind of guy who becomes a celebrity—and that "kind of guy" was Joohan. There was a reason he'd been center before the regression. Seeing him up close, his skill and presence left me at a loss for words all over again.

So that's why Yiyul was under so much stress.

They were the same age, which meant the comparisons between them came especially often.

Still, thanks to those final two, the mid-round evaluation wrapped up with the judges wearing satisfied smiles.

"And that concludes the mid-round evaluation. Great work, everyone! After the judges deliberate, we'll announce the final position placements."

Only after quite a long wait did the judges file back into the practice room.

"We will now call the trainees placed in the Code C group."

Nine codes were called. Thankfully, mine wasn't among them.

……I survived.

"Next, the Code B group."

Five more codes followed, and I could feel it—my number was about to be called.

But the digit that rang out the moment I took my first step forward—

"And finally, Code 4."

—wasn't mine.